Five Stages
by flowinthestream12
Summary: There are five stages of grief: denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and acceptance. This is Harry's healing journey following defeating Voldemort. He is far more emotionally messed up than he had realized. Luckily, he has friends who would do anything to help him heal. As he heals, his romance with Ginny grows beyond teenage lust. PTSD & mature content inside.
1. Denial (Part 1)

Three summers ago, Harry had to deal with the guilt of Cedric Diggory's murder. When he had come to the Burrow that same summer, however, he did not look as terrible as he did now. Sirius Black was assassinated by Bellatrix Lestrange less than two years ago, but, Hermione and Ron couldn't recall Harry looking this dire that summer, either. Perhaps it was because it was the end of the Second Wizarding War and they could relax ... well, two of them could. Harry had lost a _massive_, _incredible_ amount of weight, weight that he couldn't afford to shed in the first place, and he was behaving out of the ordinary.

Even his closest friends could hardly recognize him. Harry Potter was so very ill that not even the enormous victory of defeating Lord Voldemort could cure. Though he smiled warmly at the sight of the Weasleys and Hermione when he arrived at the Burrow, everyone could see that something was terribly wrong. Firstly, his usually porcelein skin was sallow and his face was absolutely gaunt. There was not an ounce of fat or color there whatsoever.

His jet black hair had grown over the year and wilted dismally around his concave face. His shoulder blades could be spotted easily through his navy pullover hoodie that engulfed him, a hand-me-down of his cousin Dudley's no doubt. It was peculiar that overlarge clothes threw his emaciation into sharp relief. Ron glanced away at how eagerly Harry accepted a hot cup of tea, trying to ignore how his best mate's hands trembled for warmth.

While standing side by side in the line to pile food onto their plates in the kitchen, Hermione whispered down to Ginny, "Has he said anything to you that'd be useful?"

Ginny bit her lower lip before replying so quietly Hermione had to read her lips for the most part, "No, no, not yet. I keep trying to get him to talk, but, it's _still _like he can't see what we see. He's in denial, Hermione."

"You know how stubborn he can be," Hermione pressed on, "I don't think we can afford to wait much longer for him to accept that he's got a problem before it gets worse."

Ginny squeezed Hermione's hand gently, "I'll keep an eye on him."

After almost a year of less-than-acceptable portions while on the run with his best friends, Harry could hardly remember what it was like to not have a limit on what to eat. He only knew this privilege in the magical world, however. Back when he lived at Number 4 Privet Drive, the Dursleys hardly ever let him eat as much as he wanted which always played a huge part in his physical appearance - not to the point where concerned bystanders would call Child Services. If he were to return now, however, they would probably call the police.

Voldemort was dead, yes. But, there were still dangerous Death Eaters to be rounded up and locked away in Azkaban. Harry couldn't feel happy, not with the deaths of Remus Lupin, Nymphadora Tonks, Fred Weasley, Hedwig, Dobby, Mad-Eye Moody, Colin Creevey weighing heavily on his heart. Harry longed to celebrate with his friends, longed to feel complete. But, he couldn't. There was still work to be done.

A plate of food floated lazily through the air and set down before Harry. Mr. Weasley had insisted on the 'hero' being served despite said 'hero's' protest.

Ginny sat down beside him and nudged his elbow, craning her graceful neck to tell him quietly, "Harry, you must try to relax. Have a lemon poppy-seed muffin -"

Harry clenched his teeth, that muscle pulsing very obviously on his sharp jaw line, "I don't have time to stuff my face, Ginny."

She shrank away a little at the intensity of his emerald eyes glinting behind his glasses, "I'm only trying to help."

Harry sank the teeth of his fork into the chicken on his plate, "Eating is not gonna help me. What's gonna help me is finding all those bastards who killed our friends, your _brother_, and making them pay."

"They will pay, Harry. But, not tonight. We need to enjoy the people that have survived. Don't dwell on what we've all lost," Ginny hushed him as her parents, her remaining brothers, and Hermione drew nearer to the kitchen table to eat. "You won't be able to fight off any Death Eaters like this -"

"I killed _Voldemort_ 'like this'," Harry snarled under his breath, "those criminals will be nothing in comparison."

It was rather alarming to Ginny how seamlessly Harry's gaunt face changed from anguish to beaming in welcome as all the chairs were occupied around the table. Ron lowered himself down tenderly into the chair opposite Harry. Harry sighed, remembering how painful Ron's knees were now. Ron's long legs were badly beaten during the battle at Hogwarts. Though he was underweight, that and his towering height put strain on his aching limbs.

Hermione was the least injured out of the three of them since Harry and Ron tried very hard to protect her from harm during the battle. But, she had the emotional scars of Bellatrix torturing her about the Gryffindor sword, which may take longer to heal than Ron or Harry's physical injuries. Neville Longbottom's parents were tortured into insanity by that fallen Death Eater. They were all seated at the kitchen table in the Burrow now, Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, Ginny, Hermione, Ron, Percy, George, Charlie, Fleur, Bill, and Harry. Harry ate enough to satisfy his growling stomach and stopped, leaving a little more than half back on his plate.

"Have you checked on your aunt and uncle yet, Harry?" Percy called down the table. "When I get my job back at the Ministry, I can send a recovery team to find them -"

Harry gave him a feigned smile, "They'll get the news one way or another, I'm sure. Don't waste your manpower on them. I'll send them a letter."

That was a lie. He had no intention of contacting the Dursleys ever again, despite Dudley's acknowledgement of Harry's sacrifices for them. The dinner was relatively short, only lasting about a half an hour. Everyone was tired and went to bed very soon afterwards. About an hour past and Harry found himself meticulously cleaning his glasses in the bathroom on the third floor of the Burrow. He was drying them on the leg of his boxers when the bathroom door opened and Ginny appeared.

Harry froze, starring wide-eyed at the blurry outline of his girlfriend, "I locked that door."

Ginny shrugged, "Maybe you should've eaten more. Your memory's slipping."

Harry clenched his jaw and put his glasses back on, "What do you want?"

Ginny glanced away a little too late. Harry had noticed her staring at his emaciated chest, concave stomach, and protruding hip bones.

"I just wanted to check on you, see how you were doing." Ginny said rather defensively.

Harry eyed her loose-fitting shorts and shirt with the Holly-Head Harpies emblazoned across her chest, "I feel fine, Ginny. Just go back to bed. I'll see you in the morning."

Harry stomped around her, but, she wrapped her dainty fingers around his boney wrist.

"Come with me," she said, leading him down the hall.

Ron quickly hid his gigantic self when he saw his little sister pull Harry into her bedroom and close the door behind them. Hermione came up the stairs at that moment with four cups of tea floating along in her wake and saw the anger contorting across her boyfriend's face.

"What's the matter?" Hermione whispered as Ron let her into his bedroom.

"Harry's in there with Ginny," Ron snarled. "I don't care how sick he is, I'm gonna duel him right now -"

Hermione quickly directed the cups of tea to Ron's desk before she blocked Ron from leaving his bedroom, "Ron, don't do this. Harry needs someone to talk to. I'm sorry, but, that person is Ginny. He's in love with her ... and if you care about him at all you'll ... let Ginny work her magic." Ron growled and Hermione held up her hands, "Sorry for the wording. It's sweet that you care so much about her keeping her innocence. But, I'm not letting you do this. Ginny is seventeen. She's of age. You need to let her grow up. You need to let her try to help Harry."

Ron seethed for another few seconds and only cooled off when Hermione reached up high to cup his face in her hands, "Fine. Fine, you got it. I get it. Harry's always top priority, huh?"

Hermione sighed and released him, "Ron, the war is won. But, not for him, okay? Harry needs our help. If we don't make a few sacrifices ... we might lose him."

* * *

Ginny lead the way to the desk set against the windowsill in her bedroom with Harry towering behind her. The light in Harry's emerald eyes seemed to intensify the longer he was alone with her. He took in her dark red hair, soft freckled skin, and curvy petite figure ... thoughts that would earn him a jinx from her many older brothers. But, it wasn't easy to focus on these thoughts. In this short span of time, his mind flickered agitatedly between her and the people he had lost so far.

Ginny dragged out her armchair and gestured for Harry to take a seat. Harry chuckled without amusement, "Are you trying to distract me?"

Ginny hopped up to sit on her desk and tilted her head so that he could appreciate her thick lashes complementing her dark eyes, "If I were, would it work?"

Harry tensed his jaw and relented, sinking down onto the chair and wincing at his sore bones. It hurt to sit on anything hard. He had no fat to cushion himself.

"I just want to make you feel better," Ginny told him seriously, "You're scaring everyone. You're not eating -"

"- I just ate at dinner! You saw me -"

" - _enough_. Not enough, Harry James Potter." Ginny held up a slender finger, "And it shows. It shows very much, indeed. You look like hell."

Harry grinned, "I'd say 'you try living on the road for several months and see what you look like'. But, I bet you'd still look brilliant."

Ginny stepped down from the desk and came to stand between his long, boney legs, "If I were to sit in your lap, would I kill you?"

Harry laughed for real this time, in disbelief at her words, "What? Come here, come here. You could only hurt me if you _don't _sit on me."

Ginny smiled broadly and folded her legs on either side of his protruding hipbones, one hand on his broad, sloping shoulder, the other fingering his jet black spiky hair, "You'll be okay, alright? Just give me a few days. Let me help you heal. Let _us _help you."

"'A few _days_? Ginny, I'm going to the Ministry _tomorrow morning_." Harry raised his eyebrows, "I can't wait any longer. There are still Death Eaters to round up. I can't -"

Ginny silenced him with a kiss ... then she felt Harry pushing her away, "No, no, no. Harry, stay! It's okay, we don't have to talk about this right now."

He may be thinner than a broomstick handle, but, he wasn't terribly weak ... _yet_. He was stripped down to bones and muscle. Harry stood up while Ginny slid down to her feet, her hands now coiled around one of his boney wrists. Harry slipped free and Ginny Apparated, rematerializing in front of her bedroom door.

"You're not ready yet, Harry!" Ginny gestured at Harry's malnourished-state, "You're not strong enough for even the simplest jinxes! _Think_ about it! Harry, _please_. I'm begging you. Sirius would _want _you to stay out of the way! He'd _want_ you to get better! Don't you care about Lupin? What would Dumbledore think if you just threw everything they _all_ sacrificed for _you_ away -?"

Harry clenched his jaw and gripped his hand around Ginny's holding the doorknob steady, "I don't think about anything _else_, Ginny. That's the whole point. I want to finish it. I _need _to finish it!"

"You _did_! You did, Harry! Voldemort is _dead_! The war is over!" Ginny cried up at him, feeling tears welling in her dark eyes at the amount of anger swelling within Harry's chest.

"Not until all of those responsible are locked away in Azkaban!" Harry bellowed down at her.

He felt Ginny's grip on the doorknob redouble, "I don't want to watch you die! I can't do it! I've already been through that once! I'm not going to lose you again!"

It took those words for Harry to realize that his nose was a mere inch away from her face. To realize that his free arm was fencing her in and that he had her pinned to the door. He had gotten so lost in his fury that he had not realized that he had gotten that close during their shouting match.

Harry gulped, cleared his throat, and took a step back, his hand slipping off Ginny's, "I'm sorry."

Ginny closed her eyes, having seen how distraught he looked about frightening her. Ginny had seen her brothers fight and had combated with them. She should be able to handle it. But, she had never been on the receiving end of _Harry's_ temper like Ron and Hermione had. A few others had bared witness to his short fuse. Harry recalled his worst yet, when he was in the headmaster's office and destroying everything he could while Albus Dumbledore looked on.

Ginny kept one eye on Harry and slid out her wand from her shirt, aiming it at the doorknob, "_Colloportus_."

Harry shook his head, "I'm still going to the Ministry tomorrow, Ginny."

Ginny frowned up at him, "We'll see what Kingsley has to say about you joining. He's the head of the Aurors. If he thinks you're fit, I'll ..."

Harry watched a tear drip down Ginny's cheek. He had only seen her cry at Fred's side. But, she probably did when she saw Harry 'dead' in Hagrid's arms a few days ago. But, Harry had not seen her. Recalling how Ginny screamed his name in despair at the sight of his lifeless body at Voldemort's feet was like a dagger in his heart.

The guilt over Cedric Diggory's murder, grief for Sirius, Lupin, Fred, Tonks, Dumbledore, even Snape after finding out the truth ... the result was this temperamental volcano standing before Ginny Weasley. If he didn't get himself alone soon, she could get burned. She could say something that could blow his top skyward.

Harry gestured to her door with a heavy sigh, his deep voice wavering despite the strain to keep it steady, "Can you please let me out? Ginny, come on. I need to be alone."

Ginny studied him for a moment. After a few moments, so silent Harry's grinding teeth could probably be heard from out in corridor, she stepped aside, "I guess I can't make you my prisoner."

Harry walked towards her uncertainly while she unlocked the door, "I don't want to hurt you, Ginny. I um ... I love you."

Ginny tilted her head, her glare fading a little, "That's not what I _need_ to hear you say, Harry. Say it again after you _prove_ it to me."

When Ginny closed the door, he pressed his forehead against its surface, closing his emerald eyes. He wasn't sure what she meant with her response to his confession. Harry was not in a place to be reasoned with at the moment. He felt nausea swelling in his throat because of her words. He had sickened himself with his own behavior. Conflict fueled the nausea, but, the delusional resolve tried it's best to quell it. This resolve was that he would feel better once he arrested the remaining Death Eaters.

Behind him, Ginny squinted as best as she could through her keyhole, watching him hesitate outside her door. She kept hoping that he would knock, but, that hope wore thin as the space between them lengthened. He had been taking a few steps away and stopping, looking back at her bedroom door, unaware that she was watching him. Ginny sighed as he moved out of view and listened to him take the stairs to the floor above. She sat down on her bed, clutching a pillow to her chest like it could protect her from the heartbreak.

Ginny looked up hopefully when she heard a faint _pop _in her room. When she saw that it was not who she had been hoping to see, Ginny hung her head.

Hermione sat down beside Ginny, running her fingers through Ginny's hair motherly, "It's going to be alright."

* * *

Harry reached Ron's door and hesitated before entering. When he saw that the bathroom was occupied down the hall, he felt confident enough to open Ron's door. Maybe he wasn't in there. Harry was right and he could finally be alone for a few moments. He staggered over to his mattress on the floor before his knees would buckle beneath him.

Harry carefully lowered himself down so that he wouldn't agitate his nausea. He laid on his back for a little while, concentrating on resisting getting sick and fuelling himself with more hatred towards the Death Eaters still on the run. Harry turned himself over in bed and buried his face in his pillow. Then ... he screamed. His roar of agony was muffled by the feathery pillow, but, not so much that Ron couldn't hear it.

He jumped a little at the sound when he exited the bathroom. Ron held his bedroom doorframe and frowned at Harry screaming into the pillow. Ron had every reason to be as angry as Harry, if not more. But, he could never understand how such his best mate could harbor so much rage. He knew that Harry had a good heart, a big heart.

Harry went to the Forbidden Forest with the full intention of giving his life so that Ron and the rest would have a chance against Voldemort. Ron winced at the sound of Harry's choked sobs after he was done yelling, struggling to determine if Ron should make his presence known. He could not make it to his bed without making a sound because of his tall stature. Finally, a resolve was reached.

He crossed the room, knelt at Harry's side, and laid a hand on his boney shoulder.


	2. Deanial (Part 2)

Ron awoke to the gasps of labored breathing and dull thuds.

"Com'on, little brother. Let's get dressed-" Ron paused.

There was Harry with his feet hooked underneath Ron's bed, his thin face red with exertion, doing rather aggressive sit-ups. He was already dressed in jeans, fastened to his sharp hips with a overused belt, and a burgundy t-shirt. Harry wasn't wearing his glasses, so, he couldn't look Ron directly in the eye if he wanted to. He couldn't see it, but, concern was filling Ron's face the longer he watched Harry bang his spine against the hardwood floor and beat his knees with his elbows. Harry's six-pack disappeared when Harry was flat on his back, his stomach concaving for that split second.

Finally, before Ron felt like he would have to force him, Harry collapsed with exhaustion. There he laid, sprawling on the floor with his chest heaving.

Harry scoffed, feigning playfulness, while he tried to catch his breath, "'_Little brother_'? We're the same age."

Ron grinned at how Harry didn't object to being called his brother, "Nah, mate, I'm five months _older_ ... and taller."

Harry seemed to smile for real for a moment, "You counted? You remember my birth date that well?"

Ron groaned with tiredness as he swung his mile-long legs over the side of his bed, "How could I forget? I stole my dad's car on your twelfth with George and ... and Fred." He saw that Harry froze for a moment while putting his glasses on, "Harry, how long have you been awake?"

Harry hesitated before reply, "I dunno, a couple hours. It's too hard to sleep."

When Harry turned his back on Ron, Ron hissed with sympathy at the sweat stains on Harry's back from the exercise, "I slept through all _that_?"

Harry nodded while threading his arms into the sleeves of his zip-up hoodie, "You're a heavy sleeper, mate." He looked crestfallen for a moment, "Wish I could sleep like you can." It was like he had done something wrong, showing emotion. Harry clenched his jaw, "Let's go down to breakfast."

Ron watched Harry leave his bedroom, hoping war had not left him a hardened soldier in place of his oldest friend.

Ron had to stoop a lot to hold a private conversation with Hermione. They were both informants to the other about Harry's progress ... or lack thereof. Making it clear that Harry knew they were discussing him, he passed them rather pointedly.

"I don't think he's sleeping, Hermione." Ron divulged, resisting glancing in Harry's direction. "But, at least he's eating. That's progress, right?"

Hermione shrugged sadly, "I don't know. Have you noticed that he just eats for function? Only when he's hungry? He never sits down to _enjoy_ it."

"He's always been like that," said Ron. "Can't imagine what it was like for him back at the Dursleys. Maybe it's scarred him, maybe he'll grow out of it. Who knows. He's extremely gutsy for a little guy."

Hermione smirked, "Ron, Harry's not '_little_'. You're just big."

Harry clenched his jaw, glancing furtively over his shoulder at Ron and Hermione. They didn't believe that he could continue fighting. But, Harry was determined. At the sound of Ginny and Mrs. Weasley talking by the sink, Harry's aggression melted away like the sun breaking out from behind a dark cloud. Harry's stomach was so empty that he could not inflate it without causing air bubbles. He ached all around the nape of his neck down to his back.

Harry somehow knew doing sit-ups on a hard surface wasn't the only culprit. His mouth was completely dry. Ginny gazed over at him leaning on the doorframe to her kitchen just as he was licking his lips. She was wearing a lacy brown sweater that would've left nothing to the imagination if she weren't wearing a white cami underneath it. After what happened the night before, she didn't know how to act around him. Her mother, however, was perpetually cheerful ... on the surface.

Mrs. Weasley was a master at hiding her pain, "Oh, Harry. Forgive me, I haven't begun cooking just yet." Harry started to shake his head as she fussed about, "I didn't expect so many of you to be up this early. Just hang tight -"

Harry smiled graciously and leapt at the opportunity for a distraction, "Have a seat, Mrs. Weasley. I've cooked for my aunt and uncle _hundreds_ of times." Harry strode around the table dividing the three of them and pulled out a chair, "Let me handle breakfast this time. You just relax."

Mrs. Weasley eyed him in a lovingly critical way, "Are you alright, hun?" She reached up and cupped Harry's sunken cheeks, pinching them gently, "_Merlin_, war has sapped the very life out of you, sweetheart."

After making eye contact with Ginny, Harry straightened up so that he was out of Mrs. Weasley's reach, "I'll get started on the bacon."

When Harry dipped down to kiss Ginny, she pointedly presented him with just her cheek for his lips to touch. Harry took the hint and continued to the stove just as Hermione and Ron stepped cautiously into the kitchen. Ginny leaned her back against the kitchen counter while standing beside Harry.

Harry cleared his throat gruffly, asking her in a whisper, "How did you sleep?"

Ginny squinted at the side of his face, "Hardly." Her squint intensified to a glare, "Kept having dreams of your assassination."

"How lovely," Harry replied casually, summoning the bacon from the fridge Nonverbally. He then beguiled, "I slept like a baby."

Ginny scoffed, "Don't lie to me, Harry. I can easily get the truth out of Ron or Hermione-"

"A relationship is founded on trust," Harry hissed waspishly, "if we don't have that -"

"A '_relationship_'?" Ginny raised her brows.

Harry glanced at the kitchen table to see if anyone was listening, "I love you, Ginny."

The bacon heated quickly. While Harry struggled with the heavy pan, Ginny's frustration dissolved into sympathy as she watched his rail-thin arms tremble under the weight. Harry saw the look in her eyes and it only made him all the more determined to hide that he was hurting. Once the bacon was on the kitchen table, he returned to the stove to start cooking the eggs.

Ginny sighed, "You _know_ I love you, Harry Potter." She confirmed to the side of his face, wanting to touch him. "Why are you _so_ dead-set on running yourself into the ground? I can't watch you do that to yourse-"

"Mrs. Weasley," Harry called over his shoulder, "How would you like your eggs?"

* * *

It was 8 o'clock when Kingsley Shacklebolt arrived at the Burrow to meet with Harry. Harry was sitting in the living room staring at his 11 inch long wand in his hands. He could hardly bring himself to eat the breakfast he had cooked for the whole house. Sitting at the table made it all the more obvious that Fred was no longer with them. As grief and anger combusted within his heart, the light bulb inside of the lamp on the table set beside the couch he was sitting on burst.

Harry did not flinch at the shattering _pop_. He was too focused on keeping a lid on his explosive emotions. He heard Kingsley arrive. Harry got to his feet and picked his way expertly across the Weasley living room and pulled open the front door before Kingsley could knock.

Since he was a passive and stoic man, it was odd to see concern shoot across his dark eyes, "Potter ...," Those dark eyes appraised Harry shamelessly, "You look unwell."

Harry shook his head, "I am alright, Mr. Shacklebolt. I am ready to come with you to the Ministry."

Kingsley stepped passed Harry and sighed solemnly, "Potter, I know that you want to fight. But, you do not look like you can withstand the Weasley girl's Bat-Boogey Hex. Let alone a Cruciatus Curse -"

"I am stronger than I look," Harry promised Kingsley. "Let's go out back and have a small duel. I'll prove it to you."

Kingsley sighed again, "Do not take this as an insult to your skills, Potter. I have had to turn away many men, those with years of experience and training, because they ... Are you familiar with the acronym P-T-S-D?"

Harry frowned, "I am not mad."

"It's not a question of sanity, Potter. At least, not in the beginning."

Harry lead him to the back door, "I can assure you that I do not have post-traumatic stress. I just want to help bring in the Death Eaters." He pushed open the door, "Let me show you that I am still strong."

Kingsley shook his head, "It's against my principles to duel a wizard who is clearly hindered. I have already been informed by ... by the Weasley family of your behavior."

Harry felt his cheeks flush, "I didn't realize I was bothering them. I've been keeping to myself, alone most of the time -"

"That is what's concerning them. You're putting-off the grieving process," Kingsley nodded, "Potter, give yourself some time to heal. Take some time to mourn our fallen soldiers," Kinglsey pleaded with him gently, laying a hand on his sharp shoulder. "The Death Eaters aren't going anywhere."

Harry shrugged him off, "I can't just sit around, Mr. Shacklebolt. I have been on the run for over a year. I cannot fathom how to just sit back and let other people take charge. I need to be in control of my own fate!"

It took Harry a second or two to realize that his voice had risen almost to a yell. No matter how he worded his plea, Kingsley was resolute on his decision. Harry was not allowed to lend a hand in capturing the loose Death Eaters. Despair was beginning to eat at his mind as Harry watched Kingsley depart from him to meet with Mr. Weasley and Ron's older brothers. Harry didn't understand why he was being treated like a child.

_Had he not proven himself an independent young man yet? _

_ Did the last year amount to nothing in Kingsley's opinion of him? _

_ Had he not just taken down the darkest wizard in all of history? _

All of his accomplishments seemed to have shriveled up and died in the eyes of the adults. When Ginny tried to speak to him once Kingsley left, Harry took out his frustration on her.

Harry seethed, "Leave me alone. I have P-T-S-D, don't I? I wouldn't want to do something 'concerning'."

Ginny pressed her lips together and sniffled, "I'm sorry, Harry. We just want you to be safe. _I _want you to be happy. That's all I want. I didn't tell him these things in the letter to spite you -"

"What letter?" Harry demanded, fire crackling in his emerald eyes.

Ginny explained thickly, "That night we fought ... after Hermione went to bed, I sent Errol to Kingsley with it. I'm sorry, Harry. I didn't know what _else_ to do -"

Harry pushed past her, almost knocking her into the stair post, "I hate you for ruining this for me!"

That was a complete lie. Harry didn't hate her. Somewhere back in his mind, he understood her actions were out of love. Harry ran up all the flights of stairs and slammed the door to Ron's bedroom shut after him. Standing in the center of the room, Harry ran his long slender fingers through his raven hair and gripped it by its roots. His lips were trembling and a sound was coming out of his lips that he didn't recognize ... he was whimpering.

As though angry with himself for allowing such weakness to display, despite no one being around to witness it, Harry fished his wand out of the waistband of his pants and aimed it at his bed. The little mattress imploded with a BANG, feathers and metal springs soaring through the air. Ginny gazed upward at the sound and resisted the urge to check on Harry. All of his fury was exploding out of him. The volcano was finally unable to keep the pressure inside. Harry waved his wand aimlessly around Ron's bedroom, blind with despair.

When he realized what he had done, Harry whimpered again, "No, n-_no_!"

Ron will be furious with him for destroying his possessions. Harry ran around the room, mumbling to himself as he tried to repair everything that could magically be salvaged. When he was done, Harry knew something was still amiss. He felt feverish, his body was glittering sickly with sweat, and his fingers were shivering agitatedly. There was definitely something amiss ... Lupin, Fred, Tonks ... along with over fifty other victims Harry failed to save.

Harry dropped to his knees, his shoulders wilting beneath the weight of his grief, "They're ... all ... _gone_."

Admitting it aloud opened the floodgates. He covered his face to stifle his sobs which he couldn't hold back any longer.


	3. Anger (Part 1)

It was the first week anniversary of the Battle at Hogwarts. Since being denied by Kingsley Shacklebolt to lend aid in capturing the Deatheaters that are yet to be caught, Harry had consumed his time by devouring each new issue of the Daily Prophet and carrying a travel-sized radio around wherever he went. The most famous wizarding news paper was sending out more than just morning issues. They were also mailing envelopes to every subscription whenever a Deatheater was arrested or killed. Harry gave a bloodthirsty smile whenever the letter contained the second outcome.

One morning, Harry was given a surprise that would have delighted him if he wasn't in such a bad mood. Mr. Weasley informed him that Harry's Firebolt had finally been recovered after being lost last summer. His broomstick had slipped out of his grasp while they were being attacked high above the clouds by Deatheaters at the end of last July. It had been recovered by a young muggle. After the twelve year old child's memory was modified, the Ministry has sent it on its way to the Burrow.

Mr. Weasley told Harry that it should arrive within a few days. To keep himself busy in the aftermath of losing his twin brother, George had joined Lee Jordan at Potterwatch. Harry kept his little radio set to it, for Lee and George could tell him when Deahteaters were caught or killed more quickly than owl-delivered letters. Weasley Wizard Wheezes was temporarily closed till George can find a new partner and feel emotionally ready for the responsibility of running a shop again.

Ron told Harry the day before the anniversary that he had offered to help George run the joke shop when his older brother was ready to reopen it. Hermione had confided in Harry that she was going to return to Hogwarts in the fall to complete her education. Ron was giving implications that he had every intention of joining her. Harry's obsession with the Deatheaters did not leave him any time to argue that Ron could not help run the joke shop and attend Hogwarts at the same time. Harry didn't know if he could return to the scene where it all ended just yet.

In fact, it may be unwise for he was still grieving. Physically, Harry had improved. In spite of his lack of appetite, Harry cleaned any plate Mrs. Weasley set in front of him just to please her. As a result, he looked marginally better. But, it gave Mrs. Weasley an extra responsibility since he tended to forget to come to eat.

He was still terribly underweight. But, his skin looked watered and some color was returning. That probably had more to do with his steadily rising blood pressure than Mrs. Weasleys generous servings. Over the course of the year on the run with Ron and Hermione, Harry gradually lost importance in maintaining his appearance. Harry remembered spotting his shoulder-length black hair and growing jaw straps in his reflection of a mirror at the Malfoy Manor when the three of them got captured.

Ron had had better luck remembering to bathe and shave than Harry ever did during that time. This was due to his crush on Hermione and wanting to look as good as he could manage to impress her. Ron was not a shallow person at all. These actions were born out of the insecurities he brewed over the course of his close friendship with Harry. Hermione never forgot to bathe and lost the least amount of weight due to Ron sharing his food with her to keep her healthy.

Consequently, he sacrificed his own health but not to the extent of Harry's self-neglect. Since Ron was so tall and well taken cared-of his whole life, weight loss was instantly noticeable on him. Since Harry was always on the thin side, his dwindling frame didn't alarm his two best friends straight away. Ginny, however, was like a rock. No matter what storm life brought battering at her heart, her stony shell did not crack.

Although, Harry walked-in on her in the bathroom and caught her crying the other day. Rather than comforting her, Harry quickly shut the door between them. He guessed that she was missing her brother, Fred, and wanted to be alone for the moment. Harry was sitting at the table with just Ginny and Mrs. Weasley when a large package appeared on the back doorstep with three owls perched on top of it.

Harry waved Mrs. Weasley back down when she stood up out of her seat, "I'll get it."

Ginny, Ron, and Hermione bore the brunt of Harry's bad attitude. But, Harry worked very hard to spare them all of it - especially Ron's parents.

Mrs. Weasley fished in her raggedy purse for knuts, "Give these to the owls -"

"Mr. Weasley said that the Ministry paid for its delivery," Harry shook his head at the handful of coins.

Ginny looked on as Harry returned with the package, which was taller than he was, and laid it on his lap after taking back his seat at the table, "Is that what I think it is?"

Harry nodded and rather lazily unwrapped the brown paper encasing his Firebolt. Not even a thousand-foot fall left a dent in his broom.

Mrs. Weasley clapped, "Oh, this is wonderful, Harry! Maybe you, George, Lee, Ron, and Ginny can have a game of Quidditch tonight after dinner!" Harry gave her a small smile as she shrugged, "Oh, what the hell. We'll eat outside tonight and you kids can entertain Arthur, Hermione, and I."

Harry absentmindedly stroked the handle of the Firebolt with his thumb, "Sure-thing, Mrs. Weasley."

Suddenly, they heard George's voice coming from Harry's jean pocket.

His voice was trembling with the effort to keep it steady, "We have just received information that Augustus Rookwood was not among the Deatheaters transported to Azkaban."

While Ginny circled around the table to console her mother, Harry's broomstick rolled off of his lap and landed with a _clackety-clack _on the hardwood floor as he scrambled to fish the radio free of his pocket. His heart had jumped into his throat at this news, recalling the memory of Percy running after Rookwood right after Fred was killed.

George continued, "This story was kept from me as this man is suspected to be responsible for the death of my brother. But, you can't hide anything from us, Ministry. We kept the world informed of what was truly going on all last year. We have ears _everywhere_ -"

Lee seemed to have wrestled the microphone out of George's grip, for his voice cut across George's, "We have been advised to inform you all that Rookwood may have picked up a wand by now and, therefore, might be armed. Highly dangerous felon. We ask that if you spot this man, report your sighting to the Aurors at the Ministry as quickly as you can. Do not approach Rookwood or attempt to bring him in on your own. Leave this to the Aurors."

Assuming Lee wasn't going to add anything more about Rookwood's escape, Harry turned the volume all the way down. He was breathing heavily, staring fixedly out the window. Mrs. Weasley had a hand over her heart while she stared at the radio clasped in Harry's hand. She was the one who had assassinated Bellatrix Lestrange, protecting her only daughter from Fred's fate. The news that her son's murderer has not been brought to justice seemed to have muted her.

Ginny hugged her mother, pressing her head to Molly's cheek, "Mum, he can't get far without a wand -"

To his displeasure, the radio in Harry's hand shattered in his grip. Things tended to blow-up whenever he lost control of his temper. Harry rounded on Ginny and interrupted her.

"Muggle criminals can get plenty far without a wand," Harry spat at his girlfriend, making Mrs. Weasley jump for the first time since he had arrived at her home. "Weren't you listening to Lee? Rookwood may have a new wand by now."

Harry glanced from Ginny's mutinous glare to Mrs. Weasley's tearful brown eyes and his angry outburst instantly dissolved into throat-constricting shame.

Harry bowed his head, "I'm sorry."

Mrs. Weasley swallowed and got to her feet, "I'm going to the Jordan residence. I need to make sure my son doesn't do anything rash."

Still positively trembling with fury, Harry scooped his heavy broom up from the floor and examined it. Ginny accompanied her mother to the front door, leaving Harry alone in the kitchen. Ginny had tried to catch his eye, but, Harry seemed to not notice her attempts.

When Ginny started to pull on her trainers, Mrs. Weasley frowned down at her, "Where do you think you're going?"

Ginny raised her brows, "With _you_, of course -"

"No!" Mrs. Weasley held up a finger, "You're to stay here and keep the others inside the house. I know you want to help bring Rookwood back into custody, Ginny. But, please ... do this for me. I couldn't take it if I lost anymore of you."

After a few moments of tension, Ginny sighed in defeat with a warning, "Harry'll give me trouble, though."

Mrs. Weasley tilted her head before kissing her daughter's forehead, "Talk to him, Ginny. He's your boyfriend now, after all. He'll listen to you -"

"Fat chance," Ginny scoffed, smiling for her mother.

"Chain him to the floor if it comes to it," Mrs. Weasley nodded ruefully.

Ginny convinced her mother to let her escort her to the boundary line of the protective enchantments still in affect at the Burrow. Once Mrs. Weasley Disapparated from view, Ginny returned to her home and immediately made a stop in the kitchen ... the empty kitchen. Feeling chills erupt all over her body, Ginny scanned her surroundings as though thinking she overlook Harry's skeletal frame.

Ginny then bolted to the stairs just as she heard a _thud_ from overhead, "HARRY?"

Her skirt lapping around her ankles, Ginny Disapparated to the topmost floor of the Burrow and threw open Ron's bedroom door. There was Harry crouched on Ron's windowpane. The window was open and Harry had his Firebolt in his boney grip. He leaned his back out the window, clutching the window frame.

He finally made eye contact with Ginny and his mutinous glare seemed to melt a fraction, as though he was reconsidering whatever he was intending to do, "You've got to let me go, Ginny."

"Never!" Ginny said as she wiped her wand out from the waistband of her skirt.

Before she could aim it at him, Harry had let himself drop out of the window. After a spectacular sloth-grip-roll, Harry mounted his broom mid-air and rocketed to the overcast clouds above.


	4. Anger (Part 2)

One day later, beneath the dank night sky sat Harry Potter on the rim of the Horses of Helios fountain, propped up by the black marble wall. He had his thin face hidden beneath the hood of his jacket and his Firebolt was lying across his lap, his wand clasped in his hand tucked beneath the flap of his jacket. He was at the corner of Piccadilly Circus and Haymarket, in the presence of four iron stallions in the act of bursting from the shallow fountain. The Horses of Helios had their nostrils flared angrily and wild eyes ... much like the Boy Who Lived Twice. He had only ran away for a whole day so far, but, he was certain that he had given the Weasleys and Hermione quite the fright by flying off the way he did.

But, that guilt was overridden by the fury boiling beneath his concaved abs. He has been tracking down Rookwood for several hours. But, even his grief-stricken anger couldn't fuel him for much longer. Harry slipped a little further down the wall and his mind kept retracing itself back to Ginny. He wasn't sure if that lump behind his distended Adam's apple was hunger or anger.

The Muggles still bustling around him paid him no mind, even with a very long and elaborately designed broom in the soon-to-be eighteen year old's lap. He kept his emerald eyes averted, the better to shield his scar from accidental exposure. The light from a tourist's digital camera screen glared across Harry's circular glasses and he growled, flinching away.

"Sorry, dude." said the young Muggle boy holding it, turning the screen away.

That boy's blue eyes widened when Harry grabbed his wrist, "Show me that photo!"

Someone in that image had caught Harry's attention as the camera was turning away, someone with fire-engine red hair. He hoped it was only because he had been mulling over his anxiety towards his girlfriend. The Muggle, alarmed by Harry's disheveled appearance and attitude, hurriedly showed the image displayed on his digital camera. Harry felt his clenched teeth ease apart as he realized the person in the photo was clearly a man ... a freckled, stocky-built man. His left ear was missing. Harry's eyes narrowed as recognition hit him like an asteroid.

Harry felt his throat dry, "_George_?" He slipped down from the fountain's ledge and tugged on the Muggle boy's sleeve, "Where did you take this? How long ago?"

The Weasleys must be searching for him. Harry worried who else from the family might be sifting through the crowded Piccadilly Circus.

The Muggle boy pointed a shaking finger over his shoulder, "A-At the end of Shaftesbury Ave., man, like - I dunno - ten minutes ago."

Harry patted the boy on the shoulder and shoved past him. It was impossible to maneuver through the packed street corner without whacking someone with the head of his Firebolt. He took a hairpin turn down an alleyway so narrow even his boney shoulders caught on a few snags of jutting brick. Harry stowed his wand between his teeth as he swung his leg over the back of his broom and rocketed into the air, not taking a second to be sure that no Muggle witnessed him. It was so late at night that Harry doubted anyone could spot him in the black sky.

The icy wind lashed against his sallow skin and whipped his long black hair back as he gained altitude. Harry was arching over Suffolk Street when it occurred to him that maybe George was the only one of his family that was in Piccadilly Circus. Perhaps Mrs. Weasley had not arrived at Lee Jordan's house in time to stop him. Harry recalled how furious George had sounded over the radio about the news that Rookwood had escaped. Maybe the pair of them were out for the same result:

Making Rookwood pay.

* * *

Both of the doors out of the Burrow were being guarded by a male Weasley. With George and Harry still missing, Mr. and Mrs. Weasley were doing all they can to convince their children, including Lee Jordan and Hermione, to stay put. Bill was stationed at the front door and Mr. Weasley was in the kitchen where the door to the back garden was. After Harry's 'escape', all of the windows were sealed with the charm _Colloportus_. Hermione could easily break it and go after the boys with Ron at her side, but, she was hardly willing to put Mrs. Weasley through more trauma.

Lee Jordan was adamantly regretful for letting George go after Fred's killer. Although, he also admitted contradictorily that he would have joined the surviving twin if Mrs. Weasley had not arrived. It was clear in Percy, Bill, Charlie, and Ron's eyes that they would like nothing more than to band together behind George ... only surpassed by their wishing he would give up and return home. It warmed Hermione's anxious heart to see how loyal the Weasleys were to each other, putting another's need ahead of their own. In this case, it was their parents' need to keep their brood together over their thirst for vengeance.

She was sitting in Ron's bedroom with Ginny when Ron came in, the top of his freshly cut red hair brushing the top of the doorframe as he stepped over the threshold. Ginny was sitting on the nightstand, which she had set by the window where Harry had last been seen. Ron joined Hermione on his bed, making the mattress sink down significantly when he lowered his tall body down onto it.

"I tried," Ron sighed. "But, mum and dad want us all to stay here tomorrow. Mum might stay if dad convinces her. But, _he's_ definitely going with Bill and Charlie and Perc-"

Ginny turned away from the window grumpily, "I don't see why they won't let _us_ go, too. Don't they need as many wands as possible?"

Hermione cleared her throat, still sounding thick from crying, "It's obvious _why_, Ginny. We're undergraduates -"

"So is George -"

Ron squinted over at his little sister, "_He_ didn't ask for permission to go rampaging after Fred's killer. So, he doesn't exactly count at the moment."

"What about me, then?" Ginny demanded. "I was at Hogwarts while you three were off last year. I had to deal with Death Eaters on a daily basis! That's more than _any_ of you, maybe even more than mum and dad have! I know how to handle myself -"

"If I remember correctly, you did nothing but land your arse in trouble!" Ron argued back angrily. "Which felt _brilliant_, by the way, being your brother and too far away to protect you -"

"Alright! _Both_ of you, stop!" Hermione held up her hands as though to keep Ron and Ginny apart, even though they were still sitting where they had begun. "None of this is going to bring Harry or George back any quicker."

Ginny bowed her head.

When she looked up next, her bright brown eyes were welling, "George is _such_ a _git_! Doesn't he know how worried sick we all are? And Harry!" Her voice cracked as a tear finally slipped off her thick eyelashes, "He's letting his anger think for him. It's my fault. I was the one who wrote to Kingsley about Harry's ... 'attitude'. He's in just no shape to be out there apprehending some Deatheater ... by himself."

Ron tilted his head, nodded his sharp chin, and joined his sister by the window.

He laid his heavy arm around her shoulders, "He's not alone. I bet he's met up with George by now - following the same leads, I reckon. You'll see. Don't worry, they'll be okay. Maybe ... it'll be good for Harry to get out-"

Hermione's eyes widened, "Ron! You can't be serious!"

"I _am_," said Ron indignantly. "It's no good, bottling your anger like he does! He always explodes after a time -"

"You think he bottles it?" Ginny scoffed as Ron's arm slid off her shoulders down her back, "Well, he needs a tighter lid, 'cause _that's_ news to me."

"I've been his best mate longer than you've been his girlfriend," clarified Ron, pointing at her. "I think I know him a bit better than you think you do. We've been through a lot of shit," - Hermione scowled at his curse -, "We're all angry Fred's gone. Harry's funneling all his anger into it, like an outlet."

Hermione shook her head, "Harry's not 'angry', Ron! He's _grieving _... we all are! This is just one of the stages. Harry's not going about it the healthy way. He's at a loss about what to do now that the war is done."

The room was consumed by an awkward silence that followed Hermione's words. Ginny looked clearly insulted by Ron telling her that he understood Harry better. That indignation slowly thawed the longer the silence was drawn out ... wondering to herself if her brother was right.


End file.
